A Wit With Dunces, And A Dunce

This Long Disease, My Life.

Pleasures Are Ever In Our Hands Or Eyes; And When In Act They Cease, In Prospect Rise.

Who Dies In Youth And Vigour, Dies The Best.

One Thought Of Thee Puts All The Pomp To Flight; Priests, Tapers, Temples, Swim Before My Sight.

A Disputant No More Cares For The Truth Than The Sportsman For The Hare.